


Hesitate

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Jealousy, Knifeplay, M/M, Possessiveness, Scarification, i promise that this is a lot less dark than it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: Lucifer doesn't like that Sam bears someone else's mark. Sam doesn't like that he's the only one being claimed.





	Hesitate

**Author's Note:**

> Jammed this out for fun. Warnings for sexual situations, knife play, and blood drinking. Don't do this at home, kids.

Lucifer is looking at him again. Just…staring at him, eyes dark and mouth pressed into a tight line, his jaw ticking a little every now and then. Sam doesn’t even know what he did, if he did anything, if this isn’t some passing mood. But it’s happening more and more frequently, lasting longer, and it’s making him downright _twitchy._

“Sam.”

He jumps a little at the sound of his own name, shoots a short scowl at Lucifer, who looks anything but repentant, an amused tilt to his mouth as he rises from his chair. He walks over to the edge of the bed Sam is perched on, looking through his bag for clean clothes to sleep in. Sam holds his eyes, hands falling still in the duffle as he watches Lucifer come closer, hesitating just within arm’s reach of Sam.

Lucifer doesn’t hesitate. He’s stubborn and decisive, and as soon as he chooses to do something, he makes it happen. He doesn’t hesitate.

Not unless he’s asking for something.

Sam sets the duffle on the floor, spreads his thighs a little to get more comfortable, and straightens up. “What, Lucifer?” he asks, and his voice comes out a lot lower and quieter than he meant for it to. Sam sees the effect it has on Lucifer, watches his pupils dilate, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, biting on the inside of his lip.

“Castiel,” he starts, and wow, not where Sam was expecting this to go. “He marked you, didn’t he?”

“Huh?” Sam blinks, glances down at himself reflexively before catching what Lucifer means. “Oh,” he presses a hand over his sternum, mind’s eye providing the x-ray Dean had done to see the sigils, “Yeah, the sigils. What about them?”

Lucifer’s jaw ticks again, and he crosses his arms, nails digging into his arms rather sharply. When he glances to the side, letting out a slow breath, eyes closed, Sam reaches out, gently takes his arm and tugs him closer. Lucifer let’s himself be moved, standing between the V of Sam’s legs now, but he’s still not meeting his eyes.

“Lucifer,” Sam presses, carefully prying one of his hands off his arm to hold it. “What about them?”

“I don’t like them,” he mutters, gaze returning to Sam somewhat reluctantly. “I don’t enjoy looking at you and seeing someone else’s claim.”

Sam huffs out a short laugh, because he can’t help it. “I get why you see it like that, but,” he shakes his head, “Lucifer, they were - _are_ \- protection.”

“Protection based on a claim,” Lucifer bites out. “They place you under the care and keeping of a particular angel.” His hand tightens on Sam, just enough for Sam to feel his frustration, as if he weren’t communicating it clearly enough. “You’re _mine._ It should be me.”

Ah. There it is. Sam understands the hesitation now, because Lucifer could, theoretically just change the sigils. He could probably do it without Sam ever knowing. But he wants Sam’s permission, his consent, to be marked in a way that is quite literally bone deep.

He runs his hand over the back of Lucifer’s. “I don’t belong to you,” he reminds Lucifer, quietly. They’ve had that argument before, many times. Sam may have been made for Lucifer, meant as a gift, but he had his own will.

Lucifer huffs out a breath. “I know that,” he allows, because oh yes, Sam has enforced that line. Enforced it hard enough and in so many ways that Lucifer cannot possibly mistake it. “But we still are what we are, Sam. And I can’t help but feel some measure of -”

He stops, but Sam knows. He can’t help but laugh, because this genuinely amuses him, this jealousy that Lucifer is showing because of Cas, of all people. “You feel possessive,” he finishes for him, and Lucifer glares at him, at the amused smirk on his mouth.

“I will not stand being _mocked._ ” Lucifer’s voice has gone hard and tight, eyes outraged, burning.

Sam’s expression immediately drops to sobriety. “I’m not trying to mock you, Lucifer,” he says softly, aiming to pacify, thumb running over Lucifer’s knuckles when his grip tightens. “I just - of all the people to be jealous of, Cas? Cas is family.”

Lucifer settles a little, but he’s still tense and immovable when Sam tries to gently pull him into his lap. “It’s not about the type of relationship. It’s about the fact that it’s there at all,” he says flatly, unhappy.

Sam can see the hurt in him, hiding in his eyes. He reaches up with his other hand, curls it around Lucifer’s cheek. “I understand,” he says slowly, then sighs. “Alright. You can change them.”

Lucifer’s goes lax, easily sinking into Sam’s lap when pulled, while his expression flickers between surprise, and yet more hesitation. Christ, what else is there? Sam slides his hand down to rest on Lucifer’s neck while he settles.

“Am I allowed to make them…more extensive?” he asks eventually, palms coming to rest on Sam’s chest, crunching his shirt in his fists. “It will probably hurt,” he adds, like pain has ever been an obstacle to getting something done in Sam’s life.

Sam just laughs. Of course that's what he wants. “As long as you aren’t writing the equivalent of _dibs_ on my bones, then yeah, Lucifer.”

Lucifer releases a slow breath, wraps one hand around the back of Sam’s neck, lays one palm flat against Sam’s sternum. He holds Sam’s eyes for a moment, then leans up, and presses a kiss to the crown of Sam’s head.

Even bracing for it, the pain blindsides him. And it lasts, lasts a lot longer than it did when Cas burned them into his ribs the first time, spreads through every inch of himself. It lays him out and flays him, burns through him, ruins him, and Sam thinks he blacks out a little. When it ends and he opens his eyes, breathing too fast and unsteady, on edge from the pain even though he knows its source, Lucifer is hovering over him. His eyes are more relaxed, but concerned now, a cold hand drifting through his hair. Sam leans into it, takes a minute to just calm down, settle his nerves.

Lucifer’s hands start to drift over him, his digits running down Sam’s arms, tracing the divots in his spine, running along his ribs. Sam huffs out a laugh, relieved when it doesn’t make his ribs hurt. “Proud of yourself?” he says, amused sarcasm curling through his voice.

Lucifer hums, curls his palm along Sam’s jaw, leans in till their noses are almost brushing. “Extremely so,” he purrs, and then he’s kissing Sam. It’s heady and slow, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by nips and bites. Lucifer’s hand slides under Sam’s shirt, dragging up his chest and exploring the skin and muscle and sinew that are now properly marked as _his._

Sam stands up, arms tight around Lucifer’s waist. It startles him, instinct making him cling all the more tightly to Sam, annoying him when it makes Sam laugh. But then he’s being dropped on his back on the mattress, Sam crawling over him, and irritation melts into blissful satisfaction when Sam kisses him again, leaves no room for rational thought.

“Do I get to claim you too?” Sam asks, lips on Lucifer’s neck, hands in his hair and on his hips, delicious points of contact that make him push into the touch. It’s still so new to him, physical sensation; it overwhelms him, makes it impossible to think.

Sam knows that, so he slows, lets Lucifer gather his scattered thoughts. “Any claim you make on me would be welcome,” he says eventually, breathless still. Sam kisses him again, and he moans into it softly, nails digging into Sam’s shoulders.

“And how,” Sam murmurs between kisses, “would you recommend I do that?”

The first idea that comes to Lucifer drives him to stillness. He swallows heavily, and pushes Sam back a little so he can sit up. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about this before, between the ferocity with which Sam marks him with his teeth and the metaphysical claim they have on each other’s beings. He should have known Sam would want mutualism, something just as deep, just as irrevocable.

“Lucifer,” Sam’s concerned now, worry bleeding through in his tone. He’s so beautiful, dappled light from the setting sun coming in through the motel window, turning his eyes a bright blue-green. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“There are many ways you could mark your claim on me,” Lucifer says, voice rough and low. He wants to do this, but he can’t think about it too much, about the enormity of what he’s allowing. “But this is the easiest.”

He wills his sword into his hand, and offers it hilt-first to Sam. Sam stares at it, dumbfounded. “What?”

“If you mark me with this, it will scar me,” Lucifer explains, swallowing hard. “Both the vessel and myself.”

Sam takes the offered blade, looking more than slightly lost. He pulls Lucifer in, kisses him fiercely, desperately, fingers digging into his hair. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice rushed and wavering.

“No,” Lucifer says, but he reaches out, brushes fingers through Sam’s hair. “But I trust you.”

The words seem to shift Sam’s world. Lucifer can see it, can see how his axis tilts, and then Sam is pinning him down, kissing him like he might never get the chance to again. He hears his sword hit the pillows above his head, and then both of Sam’s hands are on him, pulling his shirt over his head. There are teeth in his throat, on his chest, and Lucifer bends into it, groaning. Sam’s mouth worries at certain spots in the skin, making bruises that disappear within moments but that never fail to make Lucifer whine from the raw, animalistic pleasure of teeth in his skin.

Then Sam sits up. “Turn over,” he demands, voice shaking a little, and Lucifer obeys without question or hesitation.

He’s gentler now, fingers grazing Lucifer’s skin, exploratory. Looking for a place to mark him, Lucifer realizes, breath catching in his throat when he feels Sam take up his sword again.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Sam instructs, voice steadier now. He waits until Lucifer nods, and then he presses the blade into his skin, right at the top of his spine.

It _hurts_ , makes Lucifer hiss and tighten his hands into fists on the bed. But Sam doesn’t pause for a moment. He has one hand in Lucifer’s hair, both comforting and controlling, and his movements are rock steady. Lucifer knows he’s cutting deep, one dragging line after another, and when he twists it, driving the point just a little too hard, Lucifer howls.

He can’t tell if he’s enjoying this or not, the combination of his Grace being sliced into, marked, and the rush of sensation-adrenaline-pain his body is flooding him with. By the time Sam is finished, blood dripping down Lucifer’s back, over his neck, he’s just gasping into the sheets, lost to himself and everything else.

He groans again when Sam’s mouth finds his mark and sucks, the sound muffled by the sheets but very clearly heard if the way Sam’s grip on his hips tightens. It lasts for what feels like an eternity, dragging sensation out of Lucifer until he’s just whimpering, small and exhausted noises as Sam licks up the drying blood that his mouth missed.

Lucifer doesn’t react when Sam starts to pet him, fingers dragging through his hair, a warm palm sliding up and down his side. He can’t. He’s too worn out to do anything but lay there, completely out of his own mind. He can’t even react when Sam gets off the bed, when he hears his sword clink on the nightstand.

Sam bodily drags him out of bed and into the bathroom, sets him on the counter. Lucifer can’t bring himself to speak, to move. He leans back against the mirror, smearing blood there, and his eyes follow Sam as he moves around. It registers, slowly, that Sam is gather medical supplies.

“You don’t need to do that,” Lucifer manages, voice sounding fuzzy and distant to his own ears. “It will heal.”

Sam pauses, then immediately turns, moves back to Lucifer, gently crowding into his space. Fingers scratch through his hair soothingly, and he sighs, pushing into the motion. “I know,” he says softly, voice real and hard and sharp in the staticky world Lucifer's mind has turned into. “Will you let me do it anyways?”

Lucifer sighs, and he nods. Allows Sam to manhandle him, just enough that he can easily get to the wound he’s made. It burns when Sam cleans it, but it earns barely more than a twitch from Lucifer. The pain is nothing, comparatively. The stitches feel odd, an interesting drag-pull sensation that goes in all kinds of directions. He realizes that he has no idea what Sam marked him with.

“Sam,” he says, and the hands on him still, waiting attentively. “Can I see?”

“Oh,” Sam smiles a little sheepishly. “Yeah, of course.” He goes back to the room, returns with a smaller handheld mirror. Lucifer takes it, uses it to reflect into the mirror behind him and see.

Sam’s mark is familiar. His initials, boxy but thick, lined heavily with intent. The same initials carved into the Impala, shaped the same way. “Why this?” Lucifer asks, curious as he hands the mirror back to Sam.

“I wanted it mean something,” Sam admits, glancing down at the floor, shy now despite everything. “More than just marking you as mine, but - as a safe place, too. A home."

Oh. _Oh._ Lucifer stares at him, then reaches out with one hand, pulling Sam in. He curls his hands around his cheeks and kisses him senseless, pulling him in far enough that Sam has to brace himself with the mirror behind Lucifer. Sam’s mouth is filled with the taste of his own blood, and Lucifer kisses him till he can no longer taste it. It ends with Lucifer’s arms wrapped around Sam’s neck, one of Sam’s hands in his hair, both of them breathing heavily.

They pull apart slowly, and Sam goes to grab a bandage, tapes it over his mark, and presses a kiss to the space just above it. “Thank you,” he says softly, lips trailing up Lucifer’s neck at a slow, easy pace.

Lucifer sighs, twists to meet Sam’s eyes. The fog is lifting now, everything firmer and more real now than it was. “Of course, Sam,” he murmurs back, tracing a thumb over the curve of Sam’s cheekbones.

The smile he earns is beatific, makes Sam’s eyes shine, his cheeks dimple. Lucifer can see his own sigils carved into Sam’s bones, can feel the ache in vessel and grace where Sam had carved into him. He hums in sudden, lazy, contentment, and tilts his head back against the mirror when Sam runs a hand down his bare chest. It feels _right._ They belong to each other, they always have, but now? Now anyone of any importance will know with just a glance how deep their commitment goes. The knowledge of that makes him almost giddy, finds a smile coming easily when Sam presses kisses along his jaw.

“C’mon,” Sam murmurs, tugging gently at his hips. “Let’s go to bed.”

Lucifer agrees reluctantly, rolls his shoulders when he hops down from the counter and winces at the sharp ache it puts in Sam’s mark. But he relishes it too, in a way. He thinks he might like the pain, if only because Sam is the one who hurt him. He follows Sam back out to the bedroom, rolling that thought in his mind, letting it linger. Something to consider for another time, perhaps.

He can see, beneath muscle and skin, how his sigils wrap around Sam’s bones; how their complex nature makes them shift and twist as Sam pulls his shirt over his head, bends down to grab sweatpants from his duffle and changes into them. He watches, hovering, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, until Sam settles into bed and catches his eyes. Lucifer takes his cue, climbs into the bed with him, can’t resist the fond curl of a smile creeping onto his mouth.

Sam’s fingers hover around the bandage on his skin, tempted to trace out his mark on Lucifer’s skin, but his hand slides lower, traces nonsensical patterns in the dip of his spine. It’s one of those easy, simple sensations that Lucifer has grown fond of receiving from Sam, thoughtless and yet more affectionate for the lack of consideration the act required. It gives him an odd sense of pride, to have earned this place in Sam’s life where he can so easily be a point of contact, when Sam doesn’t treat anyone else like this, not even Dean.

“You’re getting smug again,” Sam murmurs, voice grown low and rough from tiredness while Lucifer was musing.

Lucifer smiles into Sam’s shoulder, where his face is tucked against it. “What makes you say that?”

Sam doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Just runs his hand through Lucifer’s hair, scratching him lightly, pleasantly. He yawns, then makes a grumpy noise of protest when Lucifer laughs quietly at him.

“Go to sleep, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs. He presses a light kiss to the side of Sam’s neck, then his shoulder.

Sam makes an agreeable hum, but doesn’t close his eyes no matter how clearly his body wants him to. “Are you staying?”

He dislikes the uncertainty in his voice. “Yes, Sam. I’ll be right here when you wake up, Dean’s pending heart attack notwithstanding.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just sighs, accepting it. He wraps his arm solidly around Lucifer’s waist, rests his hand against the mark.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs, but Sam has already drifted off. Lucifer tucks his head against Sam’s shoulder, breathing slowly and savoring the warmth of him, the contact.

Maybe he’ll sleep too. Not that he needs to, but...he could, if he decided to.

Sam makes a soft noise, head tilting towards Lucifer, puts his lips against Lucifer’s hair, tightens his arms. It’s warm and easy and Lucifer - he can’t remember the last time he was this content.

Lucifer closes his eyes, and lets unconsciousness claim him.

 


End file.
